


Hanzo Oneshots

by FearOrRegret



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearOrRegret/pseuds/FearOrRegret
Summary: A collection of the Hanzo x reader pieces from my tumblr.





	Hanzo Oneshots

**“You’re perfectly welcome to kiss whomever you wa–” & “Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, love.”**

The holidays had seen a drastic change in the mood around the Watchpoint since the Recall. The halls still buzzed with activity only now the chatter of voices was filled with laughter. There was no work to be done for the week leading up to New Year’s Day. Still whenever you went looking for Hanzo you found him alone at the practice range.

You’d never met a person so stubbornly solitary. Despite an icy reception, the veteran members of Overwatch had grown to like him, and yet he insisted on spending all of his free time by himself. He’d been on his own for so long, you didn’t blame him for not wanting to be around too many people at once. In fact, you assumed that was why he preferred your easy company over any of the Watchpoint’s cliques. You respected that, but you tried, when you could, to get him to spend more time with the others.

“Are you going to the party for New Year’s?” you asked one evening while you watched him practice. You were worried that he’d spend the whole night with his bow if you didn’t say something.

“Will you be there?” he asked, as usual. He seldom agreed to go anywhere without you.

“No, the old Blackwatch team is getting together that night,” you told him.

A flash of disappointment crossed his face, and he turned his attention back to his training.

“Getting together for what?” he asked.

“The usually New Year’s stuff,” you answered, counting on your fingers as you listed holiday traditions. “Drinking games, fireworks, nostalgia, smooching at midnight.”

“Smooching?” he repeated.

“I was joking,” you explained quickly to assuage the hint of jealousy you heard in his tone. “We don’t actually-”

“You are welcome to kiss whomever you wa–”

You interrupted him with a quick kiss. Stunned you stood and regarded each other in silence. You had surprised yourself as much as you had surprised him, and you couldn’t explain what had compelled you to do it. It just felt right. Slowly, delicately he returned your gesture, his lips meeting yours lightly for the longest second of your life.

Heart fluttering from your budding love, you smiled and said, “Happy New Year, love.”

* * *

 

**“You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss.”**

Hanging mistletoe around the Watchpoint had been your idea of a joke, thinking that no one would take it seriously, and now it was backfiring. You never thought that anyone would actually try to kiss you. But here you were caught under the holiday decoration with Hanzo. You were going to have words for whichever of your friends had let it slip that you had a crush on him.

You should have seen it coming. He’d stopped to ask you something (in a suspiciously empty hallway). You answered, and before you could continue on your way he gestured for you to wait. Without a word he pointed, smiling smugly, up at the mistletoe above you. You looked at the innocent plant as if it had betrayed you and then at the man beside you.

“Come on, that’s just a silly joke,” you told him, struggling to keep your thoughts in order under his piercing gaze. “No one’s really expected to- We don’t have to- Not that I wouldn’t want to-”

You could practically feel the color rising in your cheeks. You always wanted this. Why get cold feet now? Hanzo (the handsome bastard) just watched you babble like a love struck fool, his smile growing more mischievous with each word that tumbled from your lips.

“You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss me,“ he said finally.

Your stammering ceased at his words. Holding your breath to contain the butterflies in your stomach, you placed a soft peck on his lips.

* * *

 

**“Hey, want to help me get my parents off my ass about not having a date?”**

You had hoped that Hanzo would want you to be his date. You’d been harbouring feelings for him for so many years that it was common knowledge in your social circle. In fact, it was sometimes hard to believe that he didn’t know how you felt. But he’d been your friend since childhood, and you worried that he’d only ever see you as just that.

“Help me get my parents off my ass about not having a date” wasn’t the way you would have wanted to be asked out. It was too blunt, too honest, although typical of Hanzo. You didn’t want to think about spending the whole night lying about being together, especially to his family, but you hated more the thought of seeing him with someone else. So you agreed to be his fake date for the night.

Playing a happy couple was harder for you than you had imagined. Seeing him in formal clothes made you weak, and the way he walked with an arm around your waist made your heart race. To make matters worse, whenever he talked to you he’d lean in close to speak softly into your ear as if his words were a carefully guarded secret. Each time the fire in your stomach burned a little warmer.

Few hours passed before you needed a moment away from the knowing glances of your friends to calm your nerves. You excused yourself and stepped outside to breathe. The cool night air on your flushed face relaxed you, and you lingered there wondering if you could survive the night. You were prepared to return to the party when Hanzo joined you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you fibbed, avoiding his eye, and added in a nonchalant tone, “You owe me a real date for this.”

“What did you have in mind?” he answered and put his arm around you again. You couldn’t see why he would bother with no one around to witness the gesture, but you let it be.

“Maybe dinner,” you suggested, slyly offering up details of a dream you’d had more than once. “And after that we go out dancing and get really drunk.”

He laughed and seemed to hold you tighter. Together you watched the stars in silence.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said after a moment. Like before he kept his voice low as though you were having a private conversation.

“Any time,” you answered. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I think I love you.” 

* * *

 

**“I guess… this is when we kiss?”**

Back in the day, New Year’s was a big deal at the Watchpoint. Overwatch recognized holidays as well as they could for a multi-national, multi-cultural organization, but the beginning of a new calendar year was something the world could agree was worth celebrating. So they’d pull out all the stops, each agent contributing something from their favorite holiday.

But this would be the first New Year after the recall reunited you with your former colleagues. There would be no big to-do this year, just champagne and fireworks. The upbeat attitudes around you seemed delicate as if floating delicately atop the fear that all of this would fail again. With good alcohol and better company, you managed to keep your concerns at bay.

As midnight drew closer, you picked out an isolated spot to watch the fireworks from. Not long after, Hanzo came to sit beside you and handed you another flute of champagne. Since joining Overwatch he’d quickly become a close friend to you. You’d spent the night sharing stories about the New Year’s celebrations you remembered and what life had been like in those days, and he’d listened attentively even when you started recounting things that you had already told him before.

You sat in silence as the fireworks flashed and crackled overhead, illuminating the night as you welcomed a new year. At the end you heard the others cheering from their various perches.

“I guess this is when we kiss,” you mentioned.

You watched the impression of the fireworks in the sky give way to clusters of starlight, thinking of how you used to grab anyone within arm’s reach and peck them on the cheek at the stroke of midnight. That sort of comradery was rare. Who knew if it would be that way again?

Beside you, Hanzo chuckled. Before you could ask what for he leaned over and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Happy New Year,” he said and tapped his drink against yours.

* * *

 

**"Cuddling by the Fireplace"**

While on a mission you find yourself in an old safe house. There’s no heating, but the house is so old that it’s got a fireplace. It’s cold and you’re both so surprised to see it that you agree to light a fire for the night.

It’s his idea to sleep in front of the fire. You had planned on dragging a couch over and bundling up in blankets to stay warm, but by the time you’re ready to sleep he’s built a nest of blankets on the floor. He’s pretty insistent that you’d only be cuddling for warmth. No other reason. In fact, he’s so insistent that you don’t even bother teasing him about wanting to hold you. He’s the big spoon, and you couldn’t be more cozy. By morning he’s holding you so tight that you have to wake him up to get away (not that you’re in a hurry to).

* * *

 

**Can I request Hanzo and the reader having a really passionate love making session then the fluffiest sweetest and warmest cuddles after?? Thank you!!**

He’s so gentle with you, taking his time to caress every inch of your body. Wherever he touches he also warms your skin with chaste kisses, some so brief and so light you almost don’t feel his lips there and others so lengthy that you wonder if he’ll ever tire of kissing you. Each motion is slow and deliberate. He pauses between each kiss until your touch or sigh tells him you’re ready for more. Please more. He holds you close, fingers interlaced with yours, and when he’s inside you, you cling to him as he draws pleasured moans from your lips.

Afterwards he’ll smooth your hair and whisper words of love for only you to hear as you lay together. Beneath the blankets you’re both naked, your bodies held together to share each other’s heat. You exchange exhausted kisses that are no less passionate than before your love making and murmur secrets and stories to each other until you eventually drift off to sleep.

* * *

 

**I don't know if this counts as a request but can you just write anything about yakuza!wife?? I love the thought of her and idc if it's a fic or headcanons, I'm just happy to read it. NSFW or not, I really dont mind lmao. Ty in advance!!**

You have never handled a weapon in your life and have no interest in learning to, but you enjoy sitting nearby while Hanzo practices his craft. Your husband had offered to teach you the first time that you joined him, and you had declined. You told him then, with a sly smile, that you were only there for the view, although the company was good too.

His physique is impressive and always has been. You’re unashamed in your appraisal, taking any opportunity to remind him how well built he is. No matter how many years you have spent together, how many times you see him undressed (or undress him yourself), his broad, sculpted chest and thick, firm arms stir up a passion in you that won’t be satisfied until you feel his skin under your hands. This day is no exception.

Each time he draws back the bow string, you stare transfixed by the flex of his muscles. The sturdy shape of his shoulders. His precise, confident posture. His noble, masculine profile. All that perfection for you alone to love and cherish. Others could lust after him, but he was yours alone to touch. You think of running your fingers over those shoulders. His arms holding you in a heated embrace. Digging your nails into his skin, greedy for more.

When you can’t stand to keep your distance a moment longer, you interrupt him with a hand placed gently on his back. He pauses immediately, relaxing into your touch. Through his shirt you can feel his body heat. You’re warm too. Your heart pounds fiercely against your ribs. For him.

“Do you need something, my love?” he asks after a pause. He knows the answer, but he always asks.

Between the open mouthed kisses you leave along his neck you answer, “You. I need you.”

And he’s more than happy to oblige.

* * *

 

**“Just one bite.” “You look good enough to eat.”**

“You look good enough to eat.”

You laughed softly, both flattered and amused by the compliment that Hanzo had muttered before placing open mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You laid beside him soaking up his loving caresses and toying with his hair.

“Is that vampire humor?” you asked.

“Of course,” he answered, although you detected a tone of longing in his voice.

He had decided, without ever asking for your opinion, that it was better for your relationship if your blood was left untouched. It was an unnecessary excercise in restraint that you could tell pained him. So you decided to test his patience. Tempting him was as easy as abandoning the floral perfume that usually masked the more subtle scent of your blood, and you could tell he was close to breaking by the needy attention he paid you.

“How about a taste?” you offered and felt him tense as his instinct clashed with his will.

“Just one bite,” he answered, his teeth already grazing your throat in search of the right spot.

“Of course,” you said smugly.

* * *

 

**“Feed me”**

You had never been possessive or demanding. In fact, when the truth came out that you were a vampire, you had even offered to continue feeding off the blood of strangers. It was Hanzo’s suggestion to use him instead. The sacrifice of blood was the sort of dramatic, romantic gesture you had not only come to expect from him but also loved about him. The irrational way that humans behaved when in love amused you endlessly, and he was no exception. He was dedicated almost to a fault.

When the time came again that you needed blood, you clung to him weakly. Seduction being an instinctive part of your hunting, you couldn’t resist preying on his desire to protect you. The loud pounding of his heart as he held you never failed to satisfy your bloodlust. You hungered for him.

“Feed me,” you whispered against his heated skin, and, as always, with neither manipulation nor coercion from you, he willingly offered himself to your appetite.

You felt the tense of apprehension in his arms and the enticing rhythm of his pulse as your fangs found his waiting throat. More than the blood he freely gave you, you craved his subservience, his readiness to give up some his life to prolong yours. You could have killed him at any time and may have taken delight in the simple act. Yet he trusted you to resist the animal urge to consume him.

You drank until your thirst was sated and nothing more for fear of harming your lover. The color of stolen life painted your face with a youthful glow that made Hanzo’s visage seem that much more dull by comparison. You stroked his hair and kissed his face and offered him your kindest praises and thanks.

* * *

 

**So I am totally in love with Hanzo's yakuza wife! I love her so much!**

You hired a new assistant every year or so. Usually the girls parted on good terms for educations or for marriages, more often the former than the latter, with a rare few being dismissed for failing to meet your standards. Except for the first girl, Hanzo could never remember their names so he called them all “kitten”. It seemed fitting given the way you tended to them like a mother cat to her litter, and the softness of the title tended to put them at ease around him. They were always young and sharp witted. Not unlike yourself, Hanzo had noticed.

Each girl you employed reminded him of you, but none could compare to your refined perfection. He considered himself lucky to have you as his wife. No one, not even himself, deserved the love you gave, but you graced him with it none the less. The thought overwhelmed him. He found himself often captivated by you, deaf to the world until you touched his face and brought him back to a reality that felt more like heaven. You’d smile at the distant, lost expression on his face as he came back to earth and ask if he was ill although you knew well enough that he wasn’t.

“I love you,” he would always say.

The words never seemed adequate, neither strong enough nor poetic enough to tell you how desperately he needed you beside him or how empty he’d feel without you. He feared that one day the simple phrase wouldn’t be sufficient, and he knew that if it came that day would kill him.

And yet you always said that you loved him too.

* * *

 

**sitting here filing my nails and i can’t help but imagine Scion Hanzo’s girlfriend/trophy-wife looking down at someone who interrupted her weekly mani-pedi to ask for a favor**

Cunning was the word most people used to describe you, and, being the eldest child of a nigh unbeatable attorney, it would be more of a shock if you hadn’t been. You taught herself by observation and instinct the ways by which the clever and ambitious made maleable even the most rigid of wills. It was your own indomitable will that first attracted the attention of your husband.

As a proud and avaricious young man, Hanzo had wanted you as a prize, to claim you as another thing that he alone possessed. He quickly learned that you would belong to no one but yourself, and he chose instead to love you more fiercely than any other man could rival. You were, to him after all, so much better than his equal. You loved him just as fiercely in return, and when he asked you to marry him you said yes.

Usually you didn’t leave the house to have your nails done, paying almost double to have someone come to you so you didn’t have to drag around a driver and a bodyguard. But today you had places to be, a late lunch date with an old friend and maybe some shopping while you were out, so before your social obligations you had someone drive you to the salon.

The place was high class, some would say overpriced, and catered specifically to the grossly wealthy. The owner, a retired beauty queen, insisted on tending to you personally, and over the years you had become something close to friends, at least as much as the divisions of class would allow.

You were waiting for your companion to return from taking a call when one of her employees, a woman about your age with a forlorn expression, approached you timidly. The woman wrung her hands and cast her eyes down as she spoke, as though meeting the eye of someone so much higher in stature may cause an offense, and asked in the most formal way for a favor.

“My older brother,” she explained in a tremulous tone, “he borrowed some money, but he has no way to pay it back.”

“Shouldn’t you bring this to my husband instead?” you said, studying the shape of your nails with about as much interest as you showed in the woman in front of you.

“I had hoped that you could…” she trailed off, reading your answer in the way you looked down your nose at her.

“He doesn’t take orders from me any more than I take orders from him,” you informed her coldly.

“Yes, I understand,” she answered and hung her head in defeat. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

She made to leave, but you stopped her.

“How long does he have to pay?”

“It was due two weeks ago,” she answered in a low, ashamed tone.

“I’ll need a new personal assistant soon,” you told her, and it was true. You had decided that morning to fire your current assistant after you caught her stealing. “Work for me for a year. I’ll pay you double what you make here and take a percentage off every other payday to pay off his loan. How does that sound?”

The woman stared dumbfounded for a moment by your sudden offer. For the first time, she smiled and risked looking at you directly to answer.

“Yes, thank you, that sounds great!”

* * *

 

**“Don’t be shy"**

The gown was simply too much for you. It was too beautiful, it fit too well, and most of all it was too expensive. You hadn’t seen the price tag; however, you could tell by the quality that it wasn’t cheap. As long as you’d been seeing Hanzo you should have been used to him lavishing you with priceless gifts, but you still found it overwhelming. The last thing you wanted was for people to assume you were only with him for the money, and that was a hard claim to refute when you were wearing a designer dress.

Attending social event still made you anxious. Although you looked the part, you couldn’t help feeling out of place amongst the aristocrats and self-made millionaires. You stuck close to Hanzo, uncertain of how to carry yourself and afraid of being obliged to socialize without him. He took your hand, sensing your trepidation.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you gently when you had a moment alone.

“I’m not used to this,” you explained, casting a wary look around the room. “I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with these people.”

“Don’t be shy,“ he told you. He touched your cheek lovingly. "There’s no one here that thinks you don’t belong, and if there were, I’d have to correct them.”

“You’d do that for me?” you asked with a timid smile, charmed by his willingness to fight for you.

“I’d do anything for you.”

* * *

 

**“Did you enjoy yourself last night?"**

You woke up earlier than you would have liked to on a Saturday. For the first time in months you didn’t have anywhere to be until Monday. You’d intended to sleep in, but it seemed your body was just used to waking up at six in the morning.

You stretched and rolled over to go back to sleep, but you changed your mind when you noticed that Hanzo was already awake. He sat beside you reading as if he’d been awake for hours. You sat up and gave him a critical look.

“When do you sleep?” you asked, surprised by how rough your voice was that morning.

“When I need to,” he answered.

He set his book down and let you lay against his chest while he held you. You could have slept there listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asked.

“Yes, you wore me out,” you said.

The memory of the night before and the deep rumble of his voice in your ear warmed your blood and gave you an idea for how to spend your free weekend. You sat up in his lap, strattling his hips, and kissed him slowly.

“Back for more?” he said against your lips. His hands held you firmly against him.

“How could I stay away?”

* * *

 

**"It's two sugars, right?"**

Your argument with Hanzo was beginning to make the other passengers uncomfortable. The two of you had been at each other’s throats since the drop ship had departed, and neither of you were backing down any time soon. Your mutual stubborn assertiveness made you a formidable pair; however, on the occasion that you disagreed, your fighting could last for days.

The moment you’d reached the ship, heart racing and drenched in sweat, you had dropped your gear to confront him for once again separating from the team and nearly getting killed. He didn’t want to hear it. He’d survived this long on his own; he didn’t need help.

“You’re going to die out there one day,” you insisted.

You were too angry to speak gently, but you were concerned about him. He returned from each mission more beat up than the last, and all because he refused to work with anyone else.

The floor shook just slightly as the ship landed at the base. The other agents hurriedly gathered their things to escape the scene they had witnessed, but you stayed a moment longer.

“You need to trust us,” you said.

“But I don’t,” he answered without hesitation.

“Really? I thought I meant more to you,” you said with less bite than you intended.

It felt like his words had knocked the air from your lungs. As close as you were, he didn’t trust you? You picked up your gear and stormed off to nurse your wounded ego. You didn’t see him again except in passing for at least a week while the resentment fermented in your chest. The next time he spoke to you, you weren’t inclined to be friendly, but you listened anyway. He found you at breakfast and offered you a cup of coffee.

“It’s two sugars, right,” he said and sat beside you.

You warmed your hands against the mug and scowled at the drink as if it had been the one to offend you.

“I’m not going to let it go just because you remember how I like my coffee,” you said.

“I don’t expect you to,” Hanzo answered.

“Then what do you want?” you asked.

“To apologise,” he told you, humble for once. “For making you feel that I don't care for you. I need you. I’m better with you. I am sorry.”

You sipped your coffee and thought it over. It really was made exactly how you liked: no cream, exactly enough sweetness to offset the natural bitterness, and hot enough to warm you up but not to burn your tongue. You’d always liked that about him, his attention to detail. He lived by precision. For years the only structure he had was what he created for himself. Of course, that was changing now with the rebirth of Overwatch and his newfound attachment to you.

“Thank you, for apologizing and for the coffee,” you told him. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

 

**Hanzo rescuing his pregnant kidnapped s/o**

You laid awake breathing in the mothball stench of the bed in the cheap motel room you’d been locked in for nearly a week. Eyes shut, you tried to focus on keeping your anxiety at a minimum. It had been a relief when your baby had finally given up the restless kicking that he’d started since being separated from his father, but that had been over two days ago. Now you felt nothing, not even a hiccup. The stillness made you that much more anxious about your situation. You smoothed your hands over your stomach in time to the lullaby stuck in your head.

“I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too,” you said softly to your yet unborn boy. “This will all be over soon. We just have to be patient.”

Near one in the morning the weak sleep that had overcome you was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass followed by a blaring car alarm. Outside your prison cell of a room you could hear the men guarding your door shouting to each other urgently. The noise ended just as quickly as it had begun. In the eerie silence that followed you switched on the lamp on the bedside table and cautiously approached the window.

The door latch clicked startling you enough to yelp in surprise, but your fear dissolved when you saw Hanzo at the door. He embraced you eagerly before stepping back to look you over one time.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, a fierceness in his tone that meant no good for your kidnappers if you were.

“I’m okay,” you told him.

You wouldn’t worry him yet about how quiet the baby had been. For now you needed to enjoy being reunited. He didn’t ask about the baby and instead placed a hand against your belly. You had barely registered the warmth of his palm when your baby stirred, kicking hard enough to surprise you both.

“He missed you,” you laughed.

“And I have missed him, too,” Hanzo replied and placed a kiss on your head.

* * *

 

**Reader overhearing Hanzo speaking to their newborn about something all sentimental and i just wanna cry tears from cute, touching moments pls**

The name was your idea–conceived the moment the doctor told you that you were having a boy–but the hard part was convincing Hanzo to name your son after his brother. Predictably he rejected the idea when you told him. The memory was too painful. He didn’t want the reminder. You could understand his reservations, but, you argued again and again, it was the perfect way to honor Genji’s memory.

You had your way in the end. Your stubborn persistence won him over. You noticed with pride over he remaining months of your pregnancy how his feelings for the name were already changing from the icy guilt that used to weigh oppressively on his shoulders to a familial affection that brought a rare smile to his face,

You woke late on a Saturday not two weeks since your baby was born. In your slippers you followed Hanzo’s voice down the hall to the nursery and hovered just outside the door to spy on your boys. Hanzo was laying on the floor talking absentmindedly to the dozing infant on his chest.

“He looked up to me, I think,” he was saying.

Was he talking about his brother? You listened quietly to his musing.

“He was my responsibility, and I failed him. I should have protected him.”

He lifted a hand to hold his son against him lovingly.

“Genji, I promise I will not fail again.”

* * *

 

**What about Hanzo falling in love with McCree’s S/O ?**

Of all the things Hanzo found to hate about himself, he specifically hated his penchant for self-destructive choices. No matter how he tried to turn his life in a new direction something inevitably drew his interests back to bad decisions. It would be just his luck that of all the people in his life he’d fall for a woman who was already spoken for.

The sight of you by McCree’s side–laughing with him, smiling at him, kissing him–filled Hanzo with a sickening jealousy that he struggled to hide. It kept him awake at night. He tried fruitlessly to convince himself that his feelings weren’t real. But you were unconditionally kind, patient with his often short temper, and understanding concerning his past. He resolved finally that his best option was to avoid any contact with you lest your company tempt him to interfere with your present relationship.

For a week he went through great lengths to stay well away from you, and he believed for a while that he would successfully overcome the inconvenience of loving you. He met you finally in the practice range. You hesitated in the door before greeting him timidly with a weak smile. He’d never seen you so reserved, and he wondered if anything were troubling you. You made broken, uncomfortable small talk while you readied your side arm for practice. There was definitely something weighing on your mind. He was sure of it but unsure of how to bring it up.

“Can I ask you something?” you said after a few minutes had passed.

“Of course,” he answered.

“Are you upset with me?” you asked, and Hanzo’s heart sank. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me lately. If it’s something I did, I’m really sorry. I like- I like being your friend. You mean a lot to me.”

Hanzo’s feelings for you  resurfaced instantly at your words. He was almost convinced that you harbored similar feelings for him. But maybe he was over thinking it. You already had someone, a man worlds better for you than he was. Why would your affection for him be anything but platonic? The morose, worried look on your face pained him, and it hurt so much more to know that it was his fault.

“I could never be angry with you,” he answered, ready to come clean. You deserved the truth. “The truth is I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” you said simply, eyes wide with surprise.

Your expression shifted gradually from confusion to comprehension, and you repeated the word again. Hanzo watched you wring your fingers during the silence that followed. The two of you shuffled awkwardly uncertain of what to do next.

“Hanzo, I…” you started but abandoned the thought on your mind.

Instead you took a deep breath and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your face was flushed bright red when you pulled away, and you kept your eyes turned away from his.

“Don’t tell Jesse, okay?” you told him.

“Of course,” he answered. What else could he say?

* * *

 

**aaa!!!! that hanzo x mccree's s/o i'm in love. could you possibly make a 2nd part**

Out in the field it was easier for you to keep your thoughts clear. You had combat to focus on. There was no time for you to worry about your conflicted emotions. Even a second’s hesitation could be a mistake. And you’d managed to make that mistake anyways. You stumbled behind cover clutching the wound in your side and cursing yourself for being so distracted.

“This is, Siren,” you called into your com, teeth clenched against the pain. “I’m hurt. Where is everyone?”

“I’m surrounded,” Jesse responded immediately, his voice accompanied by a barrage of gunfire. “Anyone got eyes on Siren?”

“I see her,” Hanzo’s voice chimed in.

A moment later Hanzo was at your side. He put an arm around you for support and all but carried you away from the fight and into a nearby building. You sat on the floor panting, a sharp pain in your chest. You had broken ribs for sure. Hanzo knelt beside you and bandaged your wounds as well as he could with the meager first aid packs you were equipped with.

“Thank you,” you said.

If it weren’t for the pain you could have laughed at how the man who helped you was the very reason you’d been injured in the first place. You had unwisely paused to steal a glance at him when you’d been hit. The guilt from knowing that would likely kill him so you kept it to yourself.

“I should have been watching. I’m sorry,” he said.

The was so little space between you that you felt his breath on your cheek when he spoke. The last time you’d been this close was when you’d kissed him. You should have felt guilty for wanting to again, but in truth you hadn’t stopped thinking about it. You ran your fingers along the budding bruise on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He smiled amused that you’d be concerned about his well-being at a time like this.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

On a whim you ran your fingers through his hair, and he leaned into your touch. You couldn’t want this. You had to stop.

It was over almost as quickly as it happened. Hanzo’s kiss was brief but carried a passion that knocked the air from your lungs. You’d nearly forgotten the pain in your chest.

“I can’t,” you told him. “You know I can’t.”

He touched his forehead to yours.

“I know.”

* * *

 

**Hanzo and s/o are in a heated argument and one of them yells “Don’t you set one foot in there!” + "You don't just get to leave when things get hard!" when the other tries to walk into their baby's bedroom and give the itty bitty a kiss before storming out the home.**

Years ago, back when you’d first met, Hanzo was always traveling. He’d stay with you for at least a week–at most, a month–and then he’d leave for some place you’d never heard of for months on end. He’d write to you while he was away, long hand written missives delivered by bewildered postmen every other week. And always on the same day. The time and care he took to keep in touch was hownyou knew it was safe to fall in love with him. These days he stayed close, and since the baby was born he made sure not to be gone longer than a week.

That’s why, when you woke up early one morning without him beside you, you were confused. The sun hadn’t risen yet. You quit the comfort of your bed–no longer warm with only you in it–and found him dressed and storing his bow for travel.

“Are you leaving?” you asked.

The thought of him trying to leave without waking you to say goodbye hurt so you put it aside for now. He paused but didn’t look at you.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, although you suspected he may not tell you.

“I don’t know,” he said.

The pain in your chest sharpened. There were always details, destinations, when he’d be back. And now you got nothing. You couldn’t help feeling that you were being abandoned, but you couldn’t figure out why. There were no secrets between you. You’d listened over the years with understanding while he told you about his home in Hanamura, his father’s empire, his brother. You couldn’t imagine a truth too grave to be shared.

You watched him shoulder his bow’s case and head for the nursery where your year old son slept. You grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door.

“Don’t set one foot in there,” you demanded. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

He pulled your hand from his sleeve, careful not to grab your wrist too tight, and looked you in the eye.

“The matter doesn’t concern you,” he said, as though his declaration would resolve everything.

“So you’re just going to run away and leave us with nothing?” you said, struggling to stop yourself from shouting. If it weren’t for the baby you might have.

“I’m not running away,” he argued.

“Taking off before sunrise without telling anyone where you’re going looks a lot like running away to me.” Your voice was starting to shake from the anger tensed in your gut. “You don’t just get to leave when things get hard, Hanzo. We have a son who needs us both. I thought you understood that. I thought you’d want to stay.”

You took a steadying breath and blinked back the tears that had welled up while you spoke. Wounded by your speech, or rather your implication that he cared for neither you nor your child, Hanzo reached out to comfort you, but you batted his hand away. He said nothing for a long time as he struggled to choose the right words to say to you.

“I couldn’t live without you, both of you, but there is something I must do,” he explained, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “My brother is alive. (You gasped but didn’t interrupt.) I must find him. I can’t say how long it will take. I promise, I will return to you, but this is what I have to do.”

You used the back of your hand to stop a tear as it rolled down your cheek. How could you stop him from going, knowing what this meant?

“Promise you’ll write to me?” you asked.

“Every day, if I must,” he promised.

You stood by while he lifted his sleeping son in his arms, and muttered something to the boy that you didn’t quite hear. You were exhausted from the morning’s emotional start, but the tenderness of the moment was not lost on you. Afterwards you walked with him to the door and kissed him goodbye. You shut your eyes and tried to remember as much as you could: the sense of security you got from his arms wrapped around you, the butterflies that took flight in your stomach when his lips met yours, the steady reassuring heartbeat you felt when you were pressed against him. This would be your last kiss for months or even years.


End file.
